Two and Two Make Twenty-Two by Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning

I have been bingeing the Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning books that Dean Street Press republished in 2021. Once I finished The Invisible Host, which I reviewed in my last post, I picked up their 1932 book, Two and Two Make Twenty-Two. This one captured my imagination from the start.

The wind whipped and snarled around Paradise Island, bending the palm trees like plumes and driving the whitecaps hissing across the beach. Off the west promontory the sun paused angrily above the tumbling sea, flooding the island with an ominous red light before which the shadows were black and sharp. (1)

On an island owned by a mysterious millionaire with a menacing storm kicking up is the best way to start a mystery, as far as I am concerned. The island is suspected to be connected with drug trafficking through the port of New Orleans. As part of the commission set up by federal authorities to stop the trafficking, Major Jack Raymond and Andrew Dillingham are sent to investigate. Andrew’s job is to trap a young woman into admitting she is connected to the trafficking. The problem is that Andrew does not believe Eva Shale has anything to do with the business. Although, his being in love with her might be clouding his judgement a bit. But things look bad for Eva when Linton Barclay, another member of the commission, is found murdered in his cabin and Eva is the only person found on the scene. Enter Daisy Dillingham, whose plane dramatically lands in the middle of the island’s golf course just before the storm closes them off from the mainland. 

“She must be a very popular young woman,” Mr. Foster suggested politely.

Imogen cocked up her green eyes and forgot the phraseology she had taken such pains to acquire since she stepped out of the chorus to wed an aging millionaire. “Listen,” she said. “Daisy Dillingham is two years older than Adam. She’s Andrew Dillingham’s grandmother. She’s the Who’s Who and What’s What of New Orleans and points South. And if she doesn’t like this swell island Mr. Allison had better sink it, because nobody who’s anybody will come here any more. That’s who she is.” (3)

I envisioned Daisy Dillingham alternately as May Whitty, Judi Dench, with a little Maggie Smith as Dowager Countess of Grantham thrown in, but with a Transatlantic accent, of course. Daisy is powerful, used to getting her own way, but also likeable with the ability to observe people and get a sense of whether they are telling the truth. She has the confidence one would expect of a person with her amount of privilege. At one point she says something like, ‘It will take a woman to solve this mystery’. And she isn’t wrong. The title comes from something Daisy says in connection to this. (Full disclosure: I am paraphrasing because I had to take this book back to the library before I finished writing this review.) She says that men are logical, with them two and two makes four, but sometimes two and two makes twenty-two. According to Daisy, it takes a woman to see this. I think this being just a tad unfair to all the men who are perfectly capable of creative thinking. In Daisy’s defence, none of these choice specimens are to be found among the male population of the island.

Daisy takes to Eva Shale from the start. Actually, I would have liked to see Daisy take a little more time in making up her mind about Eva, but I guess we are just supposed to believe that she is just that good at seeing through to the truth of people. When Eva is under suspicion for murder, Daisy is right there with her grandson, Andrew, ready, to not only defend Eva, but to prove the woman’s innocence.

I noted the reference to palm trees at the beginning of this one and thought it was supposed to be set on a distant tropical island, like Corfu or Cyprus. Then was startled when I realised it is set in America. Both authors are American, so I don’t know why I was caught off guard. Of course, when I realised my mistake I started seeing all of the details that should have tipped me off in the first place, and felt very silly indeed.

Like The Invisible Host, this book is a little over the top. It reminded me of an Old Hollywood film with a lot of big characters, dramatic scenes with the sets and costuming to match, and a conclusion that no one could have seen coming. I’ve read three of Bristow and Manning’s books now, and guns make an appearance in all of them. In general, I think these books would be best described as hardboiled crime meets manor house mystery. They are too over the top to be taken too seriously, but too gritty to be cosy. 

As much as I enjoyed reading The Invisible Host and comparing it to Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, I had more fun with Two and Two Make Twenty-Two. I suspect the setting played a big part in this. Like The Invisible Host, this one is a closed-circle mystery and I particularly like the use of an island that is closed off from the mainland as a means of creating the isolation necessary for this construct. Not to keep harping And Then There Were None, which is of course set on an island that becomes cut off from the mainland, but it is a favourite of mine for a reason. Two and Two Make Twenty-Two is a book that I can see becoming a favourite reread for those times when I want to immerse myself in a romp of a mystery.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Invisible Host by Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning

I have mentioned before that my local library gives each patron the ability to request the library order five new books each month with the stipulation that the books must have been published within the last three years. I must admit, I would find the three-year perimeter restrictive if it was not for the wonderful selection of books getting republished, especially by independent publishers. One of my favourite of these is Dean Street Press. I first got into their books by way of their Furrowed Middlebrow imprint. The titles of which are chosen by Scott of the Furrowed Middlebrow blog. Many an hour have I lost through perusing his incredibly insightful posts. If you have not visited his blog, I urge you to head over there. But I warn you, your wishlist will grow exponentially, many titles of which will be anywhere from difficult to down right impossible to find. 

When Dean Street Press announced that they were republishing the first five books in Sara Woods’ Antony Maitland series it felt like the right time to start exploring their Crime Fiction titles. If you read any of my reviews of those books you will know that I absolutely love them. Sara Woods is now one of my favourite mystery writers and before DSP started republishing her books, I had never heard of her! So of course I’ve been systematically putting in requests at my library for everything DSP have published in both their Furrowed Middlebrow and Crime Fiction imprints, along with my usual requests of British Library Publishing's Women Writers and the Crime Classics series. Sometimes my requested books come in one book at a time. Then there are the times when 10 books come in at once and I have three weeks to read them in, because someone with equally refined taste in books as myself puts them all on hold, leaving me with the inability to do what I usually do, which is to renew them three times in succession thus enabling me to read at my leisure over 12 weeks. Basically that was the longest, and most round about way of explaining what I’ve been up to the past three weeks. I’ve been reading and working on reviews, because I had a lot of books that needed to be returned to the library sharpish. I’m happy to report that they are now all back at the library and I can breathe easy again without fear of the library coming after me. 

Apparently, my time offline has left me feeling particularly chatty. Let’s get into the first book on my list…

The Invisible Host was written by wife and husband team Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning and was originally published in 1930. Earlier that year, before the book was even published, playwright Owen Davis adapted it for the stage. It was performed on Broadway under the title The Ninth Guest and four years later it was adapted for film under the same name. Bristow and Manning saw such success from this first novel that they moved from New Orleans to a Mississippi gulf coast mansion, giving up their day jobs as reporters. They wrote three more books together, The Gutenberg Murders (1931), Two and Two Make Twenty-Two (1932), and The Mardi Gras Murders (1932). Bristow went on to write period novels set in the Old South and Manning worked as a Hollywood screenwriter. There is more to their fascinating story, but I will let you read about it in Curtis Evans’ insightful introduction.

The first thing that jumped out at me about this cover wasn’t the blood-dripping skeleton climbing over the buildings, but the words “Was it the inspiration for Agatha Christie’s ‘And Then There Were None’?”. And Then There Were None is second only to Murder on the Orient Express in my list of favourite Agatha Christie novels. The only thing that puts Orient Express up front for me is that it contains both a snowstorm and it is set on a train. A book containing one or the other of these just about guarantees I’m going to love it, but include both, and as far as I’m concerned the author could call it in on all other aspects of novel writing and I’m not going to mind. Not too much, anyway. Rest assured, Christie does not do this. I also love None. The remote island setting, the guests who are strangers to each other, and the count down as one by one each guest is murdered is like a ticking clock on a bomb. (I want to be reading None every summer and Orient Express every winter. Why do I not have a personal copy of either of these books?!) But how does The Invisible Host, the book that may have inspired Christie’s wonderful book, stack up? And how does it differ?

Let’s tackle the second thing, first. Honestly, it differs in a lot of ways. Instead of having 10 people in a house on a privately owned island off the coast of Devon in England, it is eight guests invited to a party at a penthouse apartment in New Orleans. In both books the guests do not know who the host is, and they discover what is going to happen to them from a voice that is broadcast to them through a record on a phonograph in None, and through a radio in Host. 

It is easy to create an isolated atmosphere on an island. All you have to do is make sure the characters don’t have a way of getting off the island. But how do you keep eight people trapped in an apartment in the middle of a city? You wire the exits to electrocute anyone who leaves. And then ratchet up the tension with a short timeframe by killing one person off each hour.  

“The game, my friends, is not one of slaughter but of skill. You have been chosen with care, for only men and women of your exceptional intellectual agility would be worthy opponents. Until dawn, it is not money, power nor prestige, but wits; yours against mine. If I should win, it is my privilege to inform you that you will all be dead—before morning.” (42)

Much like None, each of the characters has a secret that, if it were to get out, would ruin them. But in the Christie book each character is responsible for the death of at least one person, whereas in Host the secrets vary. Each of the characters are—if not prominent members of society—ones that you might read about in various parts of the paper, a film star, an eminent college professor, an attorney, a politician, a wealthy businessman, an author, a society hostess, and a playboy or man-about-town type.

It is probably best that I don’t give too many specifics, as this is a fairly short novel. The DSP edition is 186 pages of quite large font with lots of dialogue. I whipped through this book and I think it would be best enjoyed in one or two sittings. Unlike in None where the cast of characters are all strangers to each other, the characters in Host know each other to varying degrees. I have to admit I had a bit of difficulty keeping track of the relationships even though I read the book over a short period. 

I do think you have to suspend your disbelief quite a bit with this book. The fact that the apartment is wired to electrocute anyone who tries to leave and the way the murders are carried out were farfetched. But I think if you enjoy Golden Age Crime you are probably going to be on board with this one. In contrast, I think None is carried out in a more believable way. But Christie had multiple days, an entire house, and an island to work with, while Bristow and Manning had a matter of hours and a penthouse apartment with a balcony. The smaller stage and time frame do limit the plotting, and the manner in which people are knocked off. I can see the dialogue and setting of this book adapting well to the stage. Playgoers come prepared to suspend their disbelief to an extent that readers may not be. 

This book feels very of its time, and I mean that as a compliment. I would have been able to guess that it was a book from the 20s or 30s without being told. The fact that Bristow and Manning were reporters no doubt exposed them to a wide range of people and their experience in capturing them for print is evident in this first book of theirs. 

What’s my final verdict? And Then There Were None is the better book, in my opinion. I would hazard a guess that most people would feel the same way after reading both books back to back, as I did. Christie’s book is more complex, more compelling, and more believable, which I think makes it more palatable for a modern readers unaccustomed to reading books from the 1930s. Despite this, I am happy I read The Invisible Host. I had a fun time with it and once I realised it was not going to be much like Christie’s book I was better able to enjoy it for what it was, rather than holding what it was not, against it. 

If there is anyone who has not read And Then There Were None and thinks they would like to read The Invisible Host as well, but isn’t sure which to start with, I don’t think it matters. The characters in Christie’s book are by no means composites of those found in Host, and the conclusions are not the same. The inner workings of these books are not the same and you won’t spoil the plot of one by reading the other first. That said, I might have enjoyed this book more if I hadn’t read Christie’s book first. There is a reason it is one of her most popular books. But having read Christie’s book first I did get the thrill of looking for whispers of it in Host, which is its own enjoyment and part of the reason why I reread None right after this one. 

I really appreciated Curtis Evans’ introduction to this book. He handles the topic of whether Christie was inspired by The Invisible Host or the screen adaptation, The Ninth Guest, head on, and yet delicately. As someone who strives to walk the line between my natural bluntness and my desire to be eloquently tactful, I was impressed.

In a recent Instagram post, Eugenie, as well as writing a superb and concise review of this book, also mentioned that this book does not contain any of the 1920s New Orleans atmosphere she was hoping to find. I quite agree. This book is set entirely in a penthouse apartment in downtown New Orleans, but I think we could have been told that apartment was in any other city in America and it would have made no difference to the rest of the book. 

I will add that distribution for the four Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning paperback books Dean Street Press have republished does not include North America. However, the ebooks are available in Canada and America, or you can find a paperback through your favourite UK distributor. 

Now, I finally get to go listen to the second half of episode 136 of Tea or Books? where Simon and Rachel discuss The Invisible Host and And Then There Were None. Time to put the kettle on, claim the last piece of shortbread, and grab my knitting.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Spring Begins by Katherine Dunning

First of all, I just want to thank everyone who visited Caro’s Bookcase last month. My views have continued to increase with each month since I started this blog a year and a half ago, which is very encouraging. But when I checked my stats on 4 May you could have knocked me over with a feather. On that single day this blog had 733 views! Which, to put it in context, is more I had in my first two months of blogging. And, yes. I do realise that my stats may sound little league to some, but as I am only competing with myself, I’m pretty thrilled. There are so many other ways that you could be spending your time, so I just want to say that I am very appreciative to all of you who carve out some of your valuable time and spend it here with me.

As I mentioned in my last post, I got completely swept away with Katherine Dunning’s 1934 novel, The Spring Begins. I meant to sit down and just read a couple of chapters, but Dunning’s writing made it necessary to keep reading. Her descriptions of setting are gorgeous. The women in this book are so well described, and you cannot help but feel for each of them. And I think Dunning does a fantastic job of capturing the tension, unease, and vulnerability of being a woman, especially—I assume—a woman in domestic service in the 1930s.

Despite the title, this book is set in the heat of summer. The spring referred to is a figurative one alluding to the awakening of three women. At least, that’s what I inferred from the title! Lottie is a young nurse maid who cares for the two Kellaway girls, and is painfully innocent and fearful of the world of men. Maggie, the Kellaways’ scullery maid, is more knowing of men, but perhaps not as experienced with them as Cook seems to think. The oldest of the three women, Hessie, is a spinster and governess to the two Benson girls at the rectory. When her younger sister gets engaged she faces a crisis. All of these women are domestic servants within two neighbouring homes. Despite their proximity to each other, these women rarely interact, and the narrative switches from one woman’s perspective to another throughout the book. 

This is the passage that told me that me I was going to get on well with this book.

On the way to the child's bed Lottie could see herself in the long mirror of the wardrobe as she went by. The glass gave her back a strange reflection, as if her white figure had sunk deep down into the mirror's dark silver, and when she paused to wave her arms up and down she looked really queer. Her nightgown floated mistily around her and, with her startled face, startled by her own appearance, she looked like a phantom figure that had blown in from the night itself, its flapping wings disturbing the pressing darkness. (5)

The image is a beautiful one, but I think it also points to Lottie’s innocence. She is not much more than a child looking after children with all of the fascination with her reflection in the dark that one would expect of her charges. But then we see an awareness of her body and a dismissal, or a covering over, of it at once.

If she just turned quickly on her toes like the children did when they were pretending to be fairies blown through the garden by the wind, her nightgown fled out away from her, leaving her body bare and light against the air. But it was not delicate or nice to think of herself as naked. It was all right from her head down to the top of her collar, and from her knees down to her toes she was flesh and blood again, but in between there was nothing at all—just a conveniently sized dummy's model on which to hang her blue gingham frock and white apron. (5)

That it is not “delicate or nice to think of herself as naked” points to the narrative about the female body she has internalised from Nurse, the woman she works under in the Kellaway home, and likely what she was taught at the orphanage where she grew up. The combination of Lottie’s innocence and Nurse’s worrying fascination with warning Lottie that all men are bad and not to be trusted, even ones that appear to be kind, makes Lottie fearful of coming into any contact with men. 

Lottie’s love of the children she cares for, especially for the younger girl, Isobel, was really sweet to read. At times Isobel clings to Lottie and seems to really respond to Lottie’s love. Although, I did worry at times that the elder girl, Anne, didn’t get the same outpouring of love from Lottie, or anyone else, and while there is not so much as a hint that this is the case, it did worry me that Anne just about fades into the background.

Maggie, the Kellaways’ scullery maid, seems to be more sure of herself than Lottie and Hessie. She may have the lowest position among the indoor servants in the Kellaway house, Cook may rag on her, and her attic bedroom may be the hottest room in the house, but she has a spirit that will not be tamped down.

Maggie leant farther out of the window. Gazing down at the garden and sea and up at the sky she felt as if she owned them all by virtue of the fact that she alone was looking at them. Her arms were damp with dew. Nothing stirred anywhere. No sound came from the sea, or from the birds either. Maggie ran her hands up through her hair. It was dark and shiny and waved naturally, thank God. She felt the back of her strong round neck. Yes, but for her hands and feet she was a girl well worth looking at, and Cook could say what she liked. (63)

Maggie flirts with whom she likes, from the hired waiter to the head gardener, propriety be damned. Although I worried about her less than the other women, I still had a niggling feeling in the back of my mind that perhaps she was not as capable of looking after herself around men as she might think.

Hessie, the governess at the rectory, spends a lot of time playing out scenarios in her head. At one point I had to go back and reread a section because I thought, “Wait. How would she have been privy to that conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Kellaway?” only to discover that Hessie was simply fantasising about what the couple might have said in a certain circumstance. Of all of the women in this book it took me the longest to warm up to Hessie. While holding the place of governess, she thinks of herself as a lady, and looks down on others. At times she is downright cruel, making herself come off poorly in the process. 

At the annual summer fête that the Kellaways host, she bullies a little boy, who does not know her, into joining in on “Here We Go Gathering Nuts in May”. She picks him up, despite him urging, “Let me go—let me go—”. So painfully awkward. All through the game she is fantasising about what game she will organise once this one is over. She imagines Mr. Saul, the curate, alongside, because of course she is doing all of this to get his attention and show she would make an ideal clergyman’s wife.

Panting a little, Hessie dropped the child, who glowered at her ungratefully and ran away. Now what should she suggest? A tug-o’-war? With her on one side and Mr. Saul on the other. That would be fine! His side would win, of course. A man was always gallant to a defeated woman. Besides, men were the stronger sex, they should domineer and win, and then be gentle towards the conquered. Strength and gentleness combined, and when it was over he would say, “That was a splendid game! Your little team fought gallantly but you need a rest now, Miss Price. Come—let me get you an ice.” Then side by side they would walk off, he glancing down at her, she up at him, admiringly, intimately. (132)

But it becomes increasingly apparent that Hessie lives in her imagination as a way to escape reality. The scene continues,

The game was ending now. Hessie ran forward and clapped her hands. But Mr. Saul was not there! He was threading his way through the outer fringe of children. The smile died from Hessie's lips. She put her hand to her head. (132)

As the book goes on I found myself empathising with Hessie more. I think she shows the most growth over the course of the summer, and she has the furthest to go to even recognise what is happening to her.

Supposing she screamed now. Just dropped the plates and opened her mouth and screamed. Hessie bit her under lip as she ran out into the kitchen. She laid the plates with a clatter onto the draining-board by the sink, and pressed her hands to her head. How could she live through Hilda's wedding, and afterwards, too? Evenings alone with Mother, while Hilda sat with her husband, and afterwards Hilda and Albert went, upstairs together. Hilda would be a wife, a married woman. Hilda would come back to see them, and she'd talk about ‘my husband’ and Mother and she would exchange meaning glances, leaving Hessie outside the fraternity of married women. (146)

From the start, Hessie is on the outside, standing apart in her keenness to be seen as a lady, or at least not expose herself as not being one. She is one of the surplus women left over from the First World War, and with each year it becomes increasingly unlikely that she will ever get married. I won’t spoil how her story progresses, but it is not the only aspect of this book that took me by surprise.

Well, if the length of this review is any indicator, I loved this book. It is not a plot-y book, but how the narrative alternates between these three women’s perspectives kept me glued to the page. I wouldn’t be surprised if this makes it on my top ten books of the year. There is usually at least one book from the British Library Women Writers series to be found there. I expect The Spring Begins will be on many other readers’ lists too.

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of The Spring Begins for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Not to be Taken by Anthony Berkeley

I stayed up until the wee hours of Monday morning finishing Not to be Taken. It was so good that I just could not go to bed without having finished it. Then I made the mistake of picking up another book before starting work on this review. Never a good practice for someone like me who struggles with switching between tasks. I really did think I would just dip into the British Library Women Writers book, The Spring Begins, read a couple of chapters in the morning and then work on my review of Not to be Taken that evening. Needless to say, I got completely swept away by Katherine Dunning’s writing. But more on that captivating book in a future post. We’re here to talk about Anthony Berkeley’s 1938 novel, Not to be Taken.

Not to be Taken is a deceptively simple village mystery on the surface, but do not let the bucolic setting and the first-person narration of a self-deprecating gentleman fruit-tree farmer lull you into complacency, like it did me. Anthony Berkeley is at his finest in this seemingly straightforward mystery. 

John Waterhouse has died of some type of gastric illness. He had been having some trouble with his stomach off and on for a while, but nothing to raise any alarm bells. Even his doctor was not too concerned about the complaint. Still, he died a few days later, leaving behind an ineffectual wife, and a brother who suspects foul play. The body is exhumed and lo and behold it turns out to be death by arsenic poisoning. Soon the Dorset village of Anneypenny is the centre of a media and gossip frenzy. Everyone is a suspect, and each seems as unlikely a murderer as the last.

The novel was first published in serial form under the title Poison—Not to be Taken in the highly popular John o’ London’s Weekly from November 1937 to March 1938, as a competition by the magazine. Readers were invited to act as detectives in the case, and anyone who was able to fully answer the three questions provided at the end of the second to last chapter was eligible for the first prize of £200. The British Library thoughtfully inserted the questions at this point in the novel, giving modern readers the opportunity to play along, as it were. Although, I was eager to read the last chapter, I found this invention too fun to pass up. While I will admit I did not come close to getting any of the answers correct, it was a thought-provoking activity that greatly added to my enjoyment of the last chapter. Every revelation in the conclusion added a new dimension to how obviously wrong I had been in my assumptions, and while it was undeniably humbling, it was also great fun!

Now, I loved where this book went. But I have to admit that while I never considered putting this book down, the first half felt incredibly tame. Yes, someone had just died in suspicious circumstances in this sleepy village, but the reader gets everything through the perspective of a gentleman farmer, who, while not a bumbling fool, does just sort of wait around for things to happen. If I am reading a book I plan to review, I normally try to make note of interesting passages as I read. I think it is telling that I do not have any passages marked in the first half of this book. That isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy the first half, but the narration provided by Douglas Sewell lulled me into a similar feeling of complacency that seems to arrest Sewell himself. I do believe this is a device the author uses to pull one over on the reader. Well done, Berkeley! I let the plot spin out while paying little attention to the clues, trusting that all would be revealed eventually, and not worrying myself over it. I’m slightly exaggerating to make my point, as I did in fact read the first half of this book in two sittings, so I couldn’t have been all that complacent about the result.

I hesitate to share too many quotations from this book because I think to highlight too much from the second half might draw attention to one suspect over another and I want readers of this review to have the same experience I did with trying to solve the crime before reading the last chapter. Instead, I will just share a couple of fun scenes that don’t directly relate to the mystery.

Eventually Scotland Yard are called in to investigate, and our narrator, Douglas Sewell, is taken aback by the bland and polite Detective Chief Inspector and Detective Sergeant that show up at his door, a stark contrast to the “bullying, hectoring, loud-mouthed, exceedingly unpleasant detective” to be found in the American detective fiction he had been reading lately (166).

Quite five minutes were wasted in their apologies for troubling me and my protestations that it was no trouble. Would they like to see my wife? Well, if it really wouldn’t be too much inconvenience, they would be grateful for the opportunity. Would they like to see her alone, or with me? That was just as I, and she, preferred. Would they have a glass of sherry? Why, that was exceedingly kind, almost too kind of me, but they found it better not to drink on duty. But I was just going to have a glass of sherry myself, and it was awkward to drink alone. Oh, well, in that case, they would come to the rescue but only just a drain in the bottom of the glass, really. Ha, ha. Yes, yes. Dear, dear. (165-66)

I think I would be a little surprised if these two came to my door under the guise of police detectives. They seem like very polite guests, indeed!

The interview lasted half an hour and was conducted in the same charming spirit throughout. Frances joined us in ten minutes or so, and the proceedings were more in the nature of an informal chat than a police interrogation. In point of fact, Frances and I did chat, quite garrulously. A question from one or other of our visitors would produce not merely an answer, but a confirmation, an allusion, an anecdote, all manner of divergencies. I think that secretly Frances and I felt that the two men, so far from being frightening, were so pleasant, and so much at sea, and so rather helpless, that we became doubly talkative in a kind of subconscious effort to help them out. (166)

All I could think while reading this passage is alternately, “oh, no!” and “you idiots!”. Although, now that I think about it, I would likely want to help out these nice men as much as I could too. Of course, the detectives are not quite as ineffectual as they seem. This should come as no surprise to the reader, as the chapter is humorously entitled, “Scotland Yard Is Not So Dumb”.

The novel starts on 3 September with the narrator observing “there is always something slightly sinister about the third of September”, it is always “one of those decadent days, half dying summer and half autumn, with the worst features of both” (15). Martin Edwards points out in his introduction that it was on 3 September 1939 that the United Kingdom declared war on Germany. A spooky coincidence as this book was published in 1938. From the introduction, I learned that Berkeley had a propensity to use material from his own life in his fiction, so that date may have held some special significance for him. What Berkeley does make clear in this book is his disdain for the Nazis. The  tension with Germany reaches this sleepy village in Dorset with the person referred to in the chapter “Disappearance of a Nazi” not being the only Nazi in the book. This adds a timely dash of the spy thriller to this mystery, while not actually crossing over into tense thriller territory.

Overall, I enjoyed this one much more than I expected to from the quiet start. It actually took me my surprise to be honest. As I said, it is a quiet, unassuming mystery that does not rely on cheap thrills or a twisty plot to carry itself. Berkeley’s very good writing and fair play mystery holds its own among the British Library Crime Classics. And while it is not going to take the top spot, which I believe belongs to Christianna Brand’s London Particular, it is definitely up there among the ones I would gladly reread in the future. If you are looking for a crime novel that is not at all gruesome and won’t make your stomach churn with anxiety, while still keeping you reading late into the night, then Not to be Taken is the book for you.

I had such a great time swapping theories about the suspects with my friend Sabine (find Sabine's fabulous Instagram account here). I think that if you can find someone to read this one with it will greatly improve your enjoyment. It would be a great choice for a book club. You could meet before reading the last chapter, go over your theories together, and then read the last chapter as a group! You could even arrange your own contest but perhaps the prizes would need to be slightly more modest than the one run in John o’ London’s Weekly!

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Not to be Taken for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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